


What Happens On The Band Bus

by Bardicsidhe (Scylla), Scylla



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Band Fic, Glam Rock, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-30
Updated: 2010-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Bardicsidhe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Scylla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate universe, bandfic. Everyone's got an AU bandfic somewhere, right? Written just for sheer porn factor. "Challengers" bandmates Seto, Tristan and Joey find a way to pass the time after a wild party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens On The Band Bus

In Tristan's opinion, the acid rock glitz and brief alcoholic fizz of an after-concert dog and pony show was good for one thing.

"He's drunk." Seto's stiff tone held accusation mixed with carefully restrained hunger.

…And _only_ one thing.

Not so good if you weren't _planning_ on inebriating your date.

"Don't look at me, pal," Tristan retorted. His palms spread with an aggressive shrug, before he was forced to leap for Joey, who decided that just then was an excellent time for a slow slide down the side of the bus.

"You were encouraging him." Seto remained expressionless, and did not move to help. Under the circumstances, Tristan could sympathize. He knew how sensitive the older pianist was to touch, and given the amount of teasing he and Joey were guilty of this evening, if one of them ended up fucked _right here_, they couldn't really complain.

"I was encouraging you too, but I—" Tristan grunted under Joey's weight as he set the suddenly hooting blond back on his feet. The whole length of the vehicle shivered with their combined momentum.

"If the trailer is a-rockin' then don't come a-kn-kn-knockin'!"

Tristan rolled his eyes at the blond drummer's crackling snickers and the moody blue-eyed pianist's leaden glare. "Joey, get your ass on the bus."

Joey did an abrupt about-face, swung dizzily and leaned hard into the dimpled metal side of the _Challengers_ bus. "M'ybe I don' wanna," He sniffed. His words slurred together and the venom shook out sideways in another spate of laughter.

"_Excellent_ plan, Joey. Let the _entire auditorium_ know we're here," Seto snapped, swiftly shifting his gaze to stare defiantly at the empty dark beyond the shadow of the bus.

"Don't start," Tristan hissed, and forced Joey up against the trailer like a horny cop before he could make an even louder reply.

"Gonna frisk me?" Joey taunted, pushing against Tristan with his hips, but he was looking over the taller man's shoulder at Seto.

Halogen lamps in the parking lot of the auditorium shaded Seto's eyes, revealing only a dangerous grin. "Another time, perhaps." He eased past Tristan, whose arms were still threaded around Joey, and pushed the bus entryway open.

He had to wait a bit. Joey squirmed in Tristan's grip and licked at the salt perspiration standing out on Tristan's upper lip. Joey whispered something that was probably "Let's go, cowboy, right here," but came out in a long mumble.

Tristan's eyes softened with gentle amusement, and he snaked his arm around Joey's waist, lifting him away from the side of the bus. "Joey, you're smashed."

Joey snapped his teeth. "Lay off, s'just a nice buzz. M'good nuff t'stand." The wet and glossy purplish lips split into a lewd smile. "Or…yanno, not stand."

Shooters made Joey horny. It was a simple truth that they'd discovered several years ago and honestly…tried not to repeat too often. A few shooters made him 'snuggly,' as Tristan called it. That wasn't so bad except that he was crafty and if they didn't watch him he'd have his hand down their pants, in public, without warning.

Too many shooters and well…it was just a good thing that Seto and Tristan didn't leave his side when that happened. Joey was a real good guy when he was sober, smart as a whip, quick on the pick-up, didn't take shit from anybody.

But when he'd been downing blue shooters all night he could be the most adorable whore either of them had ever seen.

"Hold your horses dude. We've got all—" Tristan's breath hitched when Joey's devil fingers snuck down to his crotch and squeezed Tristan's tight jeans just a little tighter.

"We're makin' Seto lonely," Joey reminded him, grinning with his mouth almost against Tristan's.

"Yeah," Tristan whispered, all the power of his voice gone. He could smell and taste the grape gloss on Joey's lips in the little bit of air between them. Joey could be a whore, yes. But he was a damned magnetic one. "I've got it," he said, and hooked Joey's arm around his shoulders to help him inside.

"Oh yeah buddy." Joey leaned his head back and burst into song again, surprisingly close to pitch even in a falsetto. _"He's got it! Yeah baby, he's got it! Iiiii'm y'Venus, I'm y' fi-yuh..."_

The dark of the entryway closed over them and Tristan led them up the stairs to the main floor of the bus. Joey regained his feet after that and left Tristan's side, arm trailing slowly across the breadth of his supporting shoulders.

Seto was waiting for them, leaning against the doorframe at the back of the bus. Their bunk. There were two wall bunks in the room as well – though in general it was unlikely that all three would ever be in use at the same time. His expression was impassive, nearly blank, but Tristan and Joey both knew instinctively with a look that there was a current of desire underneath the skin of those smooth features and full lips. It snapped occasionally across his eyes, hungry lightning brightening the darkened pupils.

"Either've you gonna?" Joey looked back and forth between them. His eyes looked bruised in the warm light of the cabin, stained with purplish eyeshadow long since blurred beneath his lovers' fingertips and his own sweat. In the air conditioned bus, his body began to tremor beneath his thin, sweat-soaked tank top.

Tristan considered him, eyes doing a slow crawl over the quivering muscles. Across Joey's shoulder, he exchanged heated smiles with Seto. Joey spun from Tristan to Seto, and his expression darkened.

"When're y'two bastards gonna start lookin' at me like a piece'f meat." He blinked as the two pairs of eyes swung in his direction. Slid a few steps backward and half turned, realizing where he was going, and that he was walking from one trap right into the other. "Bed. S'only place big enough f'r…"

He was sober enough to bolt, albeit clumsily and slowly, using walls and the backs of seats in the narrow aisle to limp along without crashing. Tristan and Seto didn't hurry him, just stalked after him at their own pace once he'd passed into the bedroom. They were on him in seconds, squirming together to struggle out of boots and tee shirts and pants while the bus rocked underneath them.

"Takin' advantage've me when'm smashed," Joey panted as he twisted off his boxers, laughing.

"Nothing we haven't already done," Tristan replied, helping skin the last of their clothing off and down to the floor.

Seto chuckled, drew his fingertips down the center of Joey's lean chest, lightly. "Usually because you asked for it."

"I did not," Joey pouted, and continued in the lecturing voice of an ad campaign, "Just cuz I was FUBAR an' prob'ly divin' down your pants didn' 'matically mean I was askin' for't." He started to laugh again, and his companions stared at him, and then each other, in exasperation.

"I fully intend to fuck someone tonight," Seto threatened, leaving the unspoken implication behind that if Joey didn't pull it together he'd be looking elsewhere. It was an empty threat, all three knew it, and Joey hooted with derision.

"Good luck findin' somebody who'll take ya, Mister Tight-Ass Primadonna Ivory-Ticklin' Dork!"

"You—"

Before Seto could finish his sentence, a big hand shot across Joey's middle and latched onto the back of Seto's neck. Tristan dug his fingers in and dragged him sideways into a hard kiss. The fierce hunger in Tristan's touch unlocked Seto's inhibitions as surely as if he'd tripped a circuit. Seto laughed after that – a deep, velvety growling laugh – crawled over Joey in a rush and rolled Tristan onto his back. The bus lurched.

Joey shoved himself onto his elbows and looked at his bandmates, who were tangled up like the knots in the tribal tattoo standing out on Tristan's straining left bicep. Tristan had a death grip on Seto's supporting arm, head curled forward into Seto's shoulder while his partner used those magic piano fingers to stroke a double-handful of cock: his and Tristan's.

"Wow, that was fast," Joey muttered, and rolled toward them, "hey!"

"Mm-hm?" Seto hummed dangerously, cracking open one eye to look at Joey. His grip on Tristan tightened. Tristan groaned deeply and left a red crescent of teeth marks in his shoulder.

"You're forgettin' somebody," Joey demanded.

"We don't…ah…Seto hang on!" Tristan's neck relaxed slowly as Seto's grip eased. "We don't wanna take advantage of you since you're smashed." He turned his head to smile at Joey with feigned innocence. If the hints of eager sexuality curling around the corners of his mouth weren't enough of a dead giveaway, the flush on his skin and his wanton spread-eagled pose beneath Seto's naked body certainly were.

Joey boiled. "I'll show y'who's—" He buried his fingers in the thick carpet of Seto's hair to hold him still while he snatched a kiss and left both mouths soft and messy with purple grape lip gloss. Seto made a low, needy noise in the back of his throat. His hand on his own cock and Tristan's fisted tighter, and stroked faster, and Tristan squirmed underneath him in a mix of pleasure and pain.

The minutes blurred together after that for all three of them, ticking away wild and breathless and mindless while they lay together in the wan, cool blue light filtering down through the skylight.

"Fuck," Joey whispered between ragged breaths, draped over Seto's lap in a nest of cushions. And then again, "fuck, that's good." Time slowed down, they slowed down, sweating underneath smeared makeup in the chilly air conditioned room, muscles begging for relief.

Seto murmured something incomprehensible against his neck. His right arm stole around Joey's waist, fingertips splayed around the soft dimple of his navel. He pressed his lips to Joey's shoulderblade and tipped his head back, thrusting restlessly beneath Joey's weight while his focus spiraled off into nothing but his own pleasure. Their knees were bent, with Joey's overlying Seto's, opening his body up to Tristan.

Tristan knelt between their legs with his mouth firmly attached to one of Joey's nipples, right palm curled lightly around Seto's left, sliding up and down slowly over the slick and vaguely strawberry-scented length of Joey's cock. The scent of lubricant permeated the room, mixing with the musk of sex and makeup and the heat of Seto's cologne.

Tristan was still half-hard, with perhaps the best control of the three of them (unless Joey was sober, at which point it was usually a stalemate), and had gotten no release yet but didn't mind. He rode the low buzz of arousal for as long as he could; got a kick out of how Joey's breath changed when he sucked a little harder on the tip of his nipple or closed his teeth around the sensitive skin. Joey pushed out at him, asking for more, and he gave it.

Slowly, Tristan raised his head to meet Seto's eyes. Seto lifted his head as well from his almost trance-state of concentration as if he'd heard the edges of a silent call, and two pairs of dark eyes watched one another unblinkingly through the shadows.

You're mine next, Tristan promised, silently, and leaned forward to catch Seto's lips. He felt Joey's lax, parted lips ghost against the curve of his ear on the way back to home base.

"Toldja once, toldja thousand times," Joey murmured, more sober now that he was in the middle of a fuck than he had been ten minutes ago with his clothes on, which was just amusing as hell, "you don't start somethin' y'aren't plannin' t'finish."

"I don't," Tristan muttered back at him, moving his lips an inch from Joey's so that warm breath scented with too much booze, grape lip gloss and now strawberry lubricant made a cocktail between them that both tried to avoid inhaling.

"Jesus, some cherries an' we're a fruit salad," Joey snorted and suddenly leered, though from the pressure in his ass or the dirty double-entendre that came to him, Tristan couldn't tell, "…nnn…think we're fresh outta cherries."

"I think he's sobering up," Tristan reported dryly without looking away, "amazing what a fuck'll do."

"What's amazing is how talkative…You pick the most unfortunate times to hold a conversation." Seto's voice was tight with restraint, which was really fucking sexy. When the three of them got together nothing was ever 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am,' and the one time they really got their heads into the game they went for over thirty minutes without an orgasm. Which was, as Joey put it, "too much work."

"Soberin' up my ass, I--" Joey entered the exchange again, lagging a few seconds behind, then dropped abruptly into silence before delivering the zinger. Tristan watched his face as Seto grabbed his hips and writhed underneath him, reminding Joey that there was a _cock_ in his ass, thank you very much, and he needed to _pay attention to it_. "…Yeah," Joey gasped as his body was suddenly boneless, dropping his head back as far as it'd go and landing on Seto's shoulder, "…that'd…be my ass."

The night spiraled out of control from there. Breath grew too short to spin words, hands and mouths raised chords of electric arousal as they slipped along open skin. Who had who blurred until Tristan felt his cock sliding home into deep heat and knew it was Seto astride his hips. The drummer's restraint had been such that even now he hadn't released, but with Joey's sleepy eyes trained on their movements, Tristan's body hard and hungry under his, he let go of his self-imposed barriers. Tristan relaxed beneath him, holding his hips while Seto rode Tristan like a wild creature. He reached up with both hands and snatched at the metal bar on the low ceiling, stretching his body like a smooth shadowy pillar between the bed and the roof. His dark laughter spilled across the bedroom.

Tristan cried out, and Seto growled, until pleasure flared away and left sated exhaustion in its wake. One by one, they collapsed beside Joey on the large bed. By unspoken agreement, they moved one at a time to the bathroom to strip away the evidence of sex and makeup, and were even clean and presentable by the time their stage manager came to say goodnight.

But she could smell the sex, underneath the tang of sweat and grape lip gloss as Tristan opened the door.


End file.
